


It's All Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus

by sadistically_sweet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Domestic Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hocus Pocus (1993) References, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft and Molly bonding, Mycroft is a Softie, Non-Sexual Age Play, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadistically_sweet/pseuds/sadistically_sweet
Summary: A short, but sweet, Halloween fic with some Mycroft and Molly bonding time!
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	It's All Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus

“Molly, darling, be still please.”

Molly whinged as she leaned away from Mycrofts’ hand. “I dun’ wan’ get po’ged in’na eye!”

Mycroft stood up, eyeliner pencil in hand, and waited. “Molly,” he said, fighting the urge to sigh. “I won’t poke you in the eye, if you just. sit. still.”

"Bu'd I'd  _ fee'yuls _ like i'ds gonna po'ge me!" Molly said, pouting.

This time, Mycroft did sigh as he sat down on the edge of the bed across from her. Molly was sat at the big vanity that was kept in the guest bedroom, where everyone’s make-up had been done as the vanity had the best lighting for it. Costumes had been donned first, up in the bedroom, then everyone trooped back down to the guest room for the finishing touches. “Darling, do you not want to finish your make-up? You know we don’t have to, if that’s not what you want.”

"I doooooo," she whinged, drumming her heels on the carpet.

"Then you have to sit still and let me finish, dear-heart," Mycroft said, patiently...although, were he being honest, his patience was beginning to wear thin. 

He still had his own make-up to do, after all!   


Molly chewed her lip (which, thankfully, he’d not applied any lipstick to yet), gathered her blonde wig in her hands on both sides, and tugged. “...You won’d po’ge me in’na eye?” she fretted. 

“I will be so so so so very,  _ very _ careful, dear heart. You know Uncle would never dream of hurting his favorite girl.”

And suddenly, with that one itsy-bitsy little word, Molly was more than happy to sit still like the perfect little princess that she was. Her face turned radiant, her back straightened, and her feet kicked happily. “You fa’brite???” she cooed, batting her eyelashes. 

_ 'Lord, she’s learned too much from Sherlock. _ ’ “Yes, my favorite girl,” Mycroft said as he stood back up and gently took her chin in his hand, careful not to smear the beauty mark he’d meticulously placed there earlier. “Just try to be as still as you can, darling,” he said, gently tilting her head to get just the right lighting.

Molly tried to nod, but, well, couldn’t. “ ‘kay,” she mumbled, and tried her very best to sit as still as she could...stiller than’a statue, even! Even with the tip of that pencil getting ever closer to her eye…!

“There’s a dear, good girl!” Mycroft was quick to heap praise on her...she was that much like Sherlock, at least. A few encouraging words, and they were putty in your hands to mold into whatever you pleased. 

Mycroft was near surgical in his finesse, smoothly applying thin, dark lines of charcoal around Mollys’ eyes with a practiced hand. They only had to stop once when her eyes began to water, but that was beyond the poor dears’ control and a few dabs with a tissue took care of the problem, anyway. And, while he had her nice and amicable, he took care of the mascara as well. 

“There!” he said, turning her head from side to side to check that it was even (of course it was,  _ he _ had done it, but old habits die hard, as they say), and then turned her towards the mirror to see for herself once he was satisfied. “Look how pretty!”

Molly did, and her eyes grew wide as she took in her appearance...even just a bit of eyeliner and mascara could make for a drastic change in one’s appearance, and Molly was reveling in it. “ _ OooOOoo! _ ” she cooed, smushing her hands to her cheeks in delight. “I’m b’ootiful! Boy’sh will l’ub me!”

“You’re always beautiful, poppet,” Mycroft said as he fished through the drawer that held all of his lipsticks, glosses, and stains for a particular shade. “Make-up only highlights--ah-ha!” He held up a small, fancy tube of lipstick that Molly knew to be from a very expensive brand. “Last bit, then you can go join the boys in the playroo--”

Before he could finish, Mycroft was interrupted by the door flinging open and his very red-faced, none-too-happy little brother bursting in. “My’coff!” Sherlock cried, his brand-new Halloween-themed dummy making him slur his words, but even so Mycroft could tell he was near tears. “G’eg say’ed, um, he say’ed tha’d I, tha’d I coul’dn--!” 

“He said you couldn't what, sweetheart?” Mycroft asked as he turned to the door. 

Yet, Sherlock didn’t answer, and now Mycroft could see why...the little one had finally laid eyes on Molly, and was staring at her with big, wide eyes.

“Oh,” he gasped in awe and then a sweet little smile peeked out from behind his dummy; “Tha’s  _ pre’ddy! _ ” 

The blush that bloomed across Mollys’ cheeks was evident, even under the layers of pale foundation and powder. “You f’ink so?!?” she asked as she squirmed happily...while also dodging Mycrofts’ attempts to hold her still again. 

The elder Holmes sighed and gave up those attempts...for the moment, at least. “What did you need, darling?”

“N’uffing,” Sherlock said, his woes already forgotten as he shuffled into the room and climbed onto the bed. “C’n I wa’ss?” he asked, plopping himself down in the middle in a poof of red-orange skirts and baby powder. 

“Mm, Gregory changed you last, did he?” That man always used too much powder on the little ones--thinks it’s funny when they sit and poof clouds out of their pampers. 

...Which made it _ reek _ of children. Mycroft had to chuckle to himself. 

“Y’ush.” Sherlock folded himself up and sat cross-legged, looking very much like a small, frosted cupcake with his sweet curls piled in a little top knot and his rouged cheeks. And he must have cried at least a tiny bit, because his eyelashes were clumped together in little peaks...but thank God for setting spray, because there wasn’t a streak of mascara to be seen anywhere. “Maw’yee aw’moss fini’ss?” he asked. 

In spite of himself, Mycroft smiled...they were holy terrors most of the time, the three of them together, but they were  _ his _ (and Gregorys') holy terrors, and they were sweet and squishy and adorable when they wanted to be. “Yesss, we’re almost done sweetheart,” he said as he uncapped the lipstick and held Mollys’ chin in place; “At least Molly is. Big brother still has to do his...here, pixie, look at me, hold your mouth open like this,” he added, showing her what he wanted her to do by example. 

“My’coff!”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock giggled as he bounded on the bed. “I ha’b a que’sshin!”

“I would very much like to hear it, then.” Mycroft artfully colored in Mollys’ lips while she, thankfully, held still. “Good girl!”

“C’n we wa’ss Hoc’ush Poc’ush ag’in?”

“Mm, maybe once we get home tonight,” Mycroft said, and used his thumb to wipe away an almost imperceptible smudge on Mollys’ bottom lip. “...If it’s not too late.”

“Aww, p’ea’sh??”

“I didn’t say ‘no’, darling…close your eyes for me, pixie.” Mycroft held up the bottle of setting spray, and waited for Molly to close her eyes. 

“ ‘m no’d a pi’ggsi!” Molly waggled her fingers at Mycroft, with her black lacquered nails gleaming. “ ‘m a wi’sh, a’member?!”

“A bay’bee wi’sh!” Sherlock crowed, and then totteredl backwards onto the bed, giggling mischievously. 

“NU-UH!”

“Says the other baby witch while he sucks on his dummy,” Mycroft said dryly, and shooed Molly out of the chair. “Both of you scoot; go keep Gregory and Jawn out of trouble.”

“Aw, bu’d I wan’, um, I wan’ wa’ss you ma’ge u’b,” Sherlock pouted, struggling to sit up in his puddle of skirts until Molly crawled up beside him and offered a hand. “Y’ah!” she agreed. “Wann’a wa’sh!”

“I can’t watch you both and do my face at the same time, you little gremlins.” Mycroft had a bit of trouble gathering his own skirts before finally sitting down at the vanity. He reached for the mirror and readjusted it to his liking, and then scoured over the mess that had been left on the table.. “Now, where did I put the eyeliner…?”

“Oh!” Molly chirped. “I’sh in you  _ yabbos! _ ”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the two little ones who were howling in hysterics as he reached down into his...into his  _ décolletage,  _ and pulled out the eyeliner pencil he’d stowed there earlier. “God, is this really what it’s like…?” he muttered under his breath. 

“Wha’d wha’s y’ike?” Sherlock asked as he sat up, breathless after his and Mollys’ gigglefest, and searched the blankets for his dummy. 

Well. Must not have been as under his breath as he’d thought. He leaned towards the mirror, pencil in hand; “What it’s like to have little sisters,” he answered, pulling the skin around his left eye taught. 

“Ohhhhhh…cau’sh we’re sis’sers!”

“Sanderson sisters!” Mycroft cackled in his best Bette Midler-cackle and moved to his other eye while the little ones dissolved into more giggles; “ _ Why _ was I cursed with such idiot sisters?!?”

“Ju’ss y’ucky!” Molly laughed shrilly as she stood up on the bed, pulling Sherlock with her. They began hopping in a circle, hands clasped and shrieking “Y’ucky, y’ucky, y’ucky, y’ucky!” in unison. 

Rather than scold them, however...Mycroft took the opportunity to finish the rest of his face without having to play ‘20 Questions’ while doing so. 

Even so, after only a precious few glorious, uninterrupted minutes (Mycroft was very adept at tuning out background noise when needed...and that included hyperactive, overgrown toddlers screeching at the top of their lungs), there was a brief, almost-imperceptible knock at the door before it opened and shaggy black wig popped in through the crack. “ ‘ey, wenches!” Greg said as he stepped in, hands on his hips. “Have the rules changed without me knowing, huh? You supposed to be jumping on the bed?”

Both Molly and Sherlock immediately dropped onto their bottoms with twin muffled ‘ _ whumps _ ’ and turned to Greg with big, radiant smiles. “Nooooooo,” Molly said, syrupy-sweet. “We weren’d jump’eeng!”

Though you couldn’t really tell through the thick layer ofzombie-coloured make-up slathered on his face, Greg raised his eyebrow at them. “Uh-huh. You little trollops need to hurry, before me and my mini-me go without you and keep all the candy to ourselves.”

“Nu-UH!”

If he hadn’t needed to keep a very close eye on how he was shaping up his lips, Mycroft would have rolled his eyes. “Oh hush, the lot of you,” he said, capping the lipstick with a sharp snap and, forgoing the setting spray, stood up and brushed his skirts for any stray powder. “You and Mini-Billy can go fetch the buckets--”

“Cau’drons!”

“--Excuse me, the  _ cauldrons _ , and meet us at the door.”

“Alright, fine, yes, fine!” Greg made to leave, but hung back a moment; “...For an ugly, something-something mop-rider or whatever, you’re not half-bad looking,” he said with a saucy waggle of his brow. 

“You’re a filthy old man” Mycroft replied, giving his hips a wiggle as Sherlock made gagging sounds while Molly shushed him. 

Greg leaned back in the doorway; “When you’re right, you’re right...give us a kiss, then?” 

“Fine.” Mycroft stepped towards the door; “But not on the lips, you’ll smear me and then I’ll have to beat you like a dirty carpet,” he added, and presented his cheek

“Promises, promises!” Greg leaned in and gave Mycroft a peck on the cheek. “But do hurry up a little, love,” he whispered when he was close to Mycrofts’ ear; “Jawn’s feelin’ a bit left out of the festivities, I think.”

“Aw...well, we’ll have to make sure and fix that.” Mycroft, in spite of his earlier protest about his lips, placed a small kiss on the corner of Gregorys’ mouth. “We’re coming right now, darling...alright, little sisters!” Mycroft turned back to the other two-thirds of his trio and clapped his hands. “It’s All Hallow’s Eve! And what does that mean?!”

“A nig’d o’b fro’yick!” Molly cheered as she took Sherlocks’ hand and swung it back and forth.

“An’ cos’umes an’ amok!” Sherlock laughed. “Amok!”

“Amok, amok, amok!” Molly parroted as she jumped in place. 

“Yes, you’re right! We run amok! Go find little Billy and run amok!” Mycroft said, urging them out the door in a flurry of swishing skirts and squeals of “Amok, amok, amok…!”

Greg waited until they were out of eye (and ear) sight before he turned to Mycroft. “That,” he said, “was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mycroft smiled, but then his expression turned serious. “Jawn’s not really feeling left out, is he?” he asked Greg, concerned. 

“Naaah...I mean, he might have, but I think he’s just impatient to get going.”

“Well, then…” Mycroft reached down and hitched up his voluminous skirts. “Let’s not keep him waiting!” he said, and sashayed down the hallway. “Come along, darling!” he called back over his shoulder. “Amok!”

“Yeah, I hear you...amok, amok,” Greg said, watching Mycrofts’ ‘sashay’ for a moment. “...Buncha weirdos out in the full moon...I’ll be under that full moon later, oh yes indeed,” he muttered, and reached up to itch under his wig (blasted thing!) before readjusting it. 

“Are you coming, my worm-riddled lover?”

“Yes, my tarted-up little wench. Amok!”

  
  
  


***


End file.
